Page 28 of Keep

“You were wrong about me the other night,” Hank said. “When you said recently out of the closet. I’m not. Really. At all. Other than you, my co-worker friend, Frannie, and Shelby—I haven’t told anybody.”

There it was. The other shoe.

Chad set his fork down. “So you’re not out at all.”

“No.” Hank pushed food around his plate. “It’s just—I don’t know. It’s hard when you’re my age. I want to be, but I’m scared.”

Of course he’s scared. He’s been hiding his whole life.

Chad thought about his own coming out—messy, painful, Celia’s face like a slammed door. But he’d been eighteen. Young enough to rebuild. Hank had built an entire adult life on a foundation of silence. Coming out meant risking all of it.

“It’s okay, Hank.” He heard himself say the words and meant them. “Nothing to be ashamed of. You’re taking steps. I’m a step.”

“You’re a staircase.”

God help me.

“So this closeted forty-year-old guy walks into a bar—” he started, because if he didn’t say something stupid he was going to say something real.

“There’s a reason for that.” Hank leaned forward. “Dating apps and websites intimidate me. I don’t really trust them.”

“Can’t blame you. There’s a lot of deceit out there.”

Hank paused at the word—deceit—and something flickered across his face. But he continued. “I wanted to meet someone in person. But I was under the impression that most gay bars were drug-laden dance orgies.”

Chad laughed, and some of the tension broke. “There is some of that. Not much, but a little. Also, a lot of gay bars have assimilated into straight culture. It’s a bittersweet marriage. We’re more accepted by the mainstream, but our old spaces are vanishing as a result. Gay bars, bookstores—they’re becoming dinosaurs.”

“Is BJ’s in trouble?”

“I don’t think so. Tim—my boss—doesn’t share the numbers, but we stay busy. The smart businesses adapt.”

“It’s a shame. The loss of those spaces, I mean.”

“I’m glad you walked into mine.”

“Well, you have Shelby and Frannie to thank for that. They’re the ones who talked me into it.” Hank smiled. “Literally pushed me out the door.”

“I also think it’s great that you’re still friends with your ex.” Chad speared another bite of meatloaf. “Very gay of you.”

“She was my best friend. Still is.” That look again—soft, unguarded, forgetting to be careful. “We were together for fifteen years, married for most of it. Just because the romantic part didn’t work doesn’t mean I stopped caring about her.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“She figured it out. That I was gay. I didn’t tell her—I didn’t even fully admit it to myself—but she knew.” Hank turned his water glass on the table. “About three and a half years ago, she sat me down and said, ‘Hank, I love you, but I can’t do this anymore. You’re not happy, I’m not happy, and we both deserve better.’”

“And you agreed?”

“Not immediately. I fought it. Said we could work on things, go to counseling—” He shook his head. “She just looked at me and said, ‘Hank, honey, I know.’ And that was—yeah. That was the end of pretending.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was. But also—” His voice dropped. “It was a relief. We filed for divorce and remained friends. She met Lowell about a year later. They’re perfect together.”

“And you?”

“I’m working on it.”

They finished their entrées in easy silence, stealing the occasional bite from each other’s plates. When Marsha returned to collect the dishes—both scraped clean—she asked about dessert.